Yield
by VocalRaynbow
Summary: Some things should just stay taboo, lest this story come to life. Based on the Sound Horizon song of the same name.


Yield

**Warning, contains incest and violence.**

A sweet scent was in the air. The smell of flowers and fresh grass. It looked rather "sweet" as well. The sun was shining bright in the blue sky, casting light onto every gentle thing that swayed in the wind. The ground was a warm shade of lime, except for the abundant patches of fresh soil. There was a path, cutting all of this in half, made of rumpled stones and plants that poked through the cracks. Down the path was a large country house. It was two stories and painted white. The whole scene looked quite comfortable, like a place from a nostalgic children's book.

Beside the house was a large orchard filled with blooming apple trees. They were far from fruiting, but the pale pink flowers were pretty. Some were yanked off by the wind and drifted about aimlessly. There was also a group of bushes near to the trees. Those too flowered, but would one day have juicy little berries to pick off and eat. Quite charming, really.

A girl stood in the midst of this, teal hair flowing out with the wind. She wore a light mint dress with a riper apron tied on top. Her shoes were buttoned and colored a light tan. While her eyes were a soft powder blue, and her skin was smooth and fair. She clutched a braided basket in her dainty hands. She waited there for a while, as if for something, or someone. Eventually, the wooden door in the house swung open, revealing a young man with round brown eyes. He smiled at her cheerfully, bringing along his own basket, and she smiled back.

There was no need for words between the two. They merely nodded, and headed toward the orchard, shoes clacking on the stone path. The man and the girl, though having differences in hair color, looked remarkably similar. Similar face, eye shape, et cetera. So it was simply obvious that the two were father and daughter. What other relation could they possibly share? The girl knew that well enough.

Soon they had reached the orchard, and set immediately to work. Inside each of their baskets was a trowel, a spade, a watering can, and various other gardening tools. The girl withdrew the watering can. It was a metallic blue with what she assumed to be a ripe apple painted on it. She peered in the top. Water sloshed inside and dampened the metal sides. Satisfied, she began to pour some water out of the spout by each and every tree. It was tedious work, but she didn't mind too much. Because _he_ was there.

The young man was crouched over a mess of weeds and ivy, attempting to unravel it all. He was a skilled gardener, of course, and was able to free the tiny blossom that had suffocated within. He grinned at it proudly. "Look't this, Miku!" he called, raising his dirt smeared hand to his face.

The teal haired girl gently dropped her watering can, and stepping over to him. She looked curiously at the teeny flower. It was a bright canary yellow, with five curled little petals. Its stem was fragile and dainty, as if it could not hold itself up. And yet it did, for some reason. However weak it was. How...inspiring. "It's lovely," she observed, nodding.

"It is! I wonder what its species is," he voiced, scratching his head in thought. Shrugging, he plucked it from the ground. And then he dropped it. Blood trickled down his thumb, and he was cursing under his breath. A thorn gleamed on the flower's feeble stem. "It's just like you, Mi."

She found herself laughing along with him, though eventually they had to go back inside to Mother, as his thumb was bleeding profusely. She lingered for a moment, though, and tucked the flower in her blouse, before hurrying on behind her father. Why let a perfectly beautiful blossom go to waste, hm? Her father draped his arm over her shoulders, holding her close. She loved when he did that.

Soon they stood in the kitchen of the white house. It was roomy and rather traditional, with chicken patterns, yellow linoleum, and tiled counters. A woman was dabbing at the man's hand with a towel. She wore a long lavender dress that puffed up at the sleeves, a matching apron, and black shoes. Her hair was long and pink, and her narrowed eyes gleamed azure. After healing the man's cut, she straightened up and looked at the girl with a stern expression. "What did you do to him?" she snapped.

The girl looked at her mother incredulously. "What? I didn't do any-"

But the man interrupted her. "Lighten up, honey. She's just a girl." _His_ expression, unlike the two women, was kind and wry. He clasped his wife's hands loosely, before planting a brief kiss on her lips. The girl looked at her parents, staring. When they kissed and the like, she just felt odd. Strange. Most children love it when their parents have a strong relationship. But she didn't. She hated their flirts and occasional brushes. It made her want to cry and beat something. She exited the room without a sound.

Soon summer arrived. This was when the berries were fully ripe, although the apples wouldn't be until autumn. The air grew warm and ripened itself. The birds chirped and chattered amongst themselves in the trees. Even the trees themselves had gotten into the spirit. They had dropped their pretty spring petals, donning a coat of shiny green leaves. While spring was beautiful, summer was comforting. And the coming autumn was a biting change, a break from all the warmth.

It was on the evening of the turn of the season that something happened. Something that sets the fate of the young girl in stone, though her parents are still foggy. It was on this warm evening that she decided to harvest the last of the berries. There weren't many left, but even a few could make a large difference. So she stepped outside that night, smiled at the cawing birds, and continued onward. The sky was a rusty orange, tinted blue with the coming dusk. Things were calming, quieting. Preparing to rest. She, however, was wide awake.

There was another reason she was going to the orchard, but she wouldn't admit that to anyone, not even herself. It dashed every moral known to man. So she simply tucked it away in the back of her mind. Her brown boots tapped on the stone, dress rippling around her ankles. Soon she reached the gate. She had the key of course, but ah, where was it? She patted her pockets, her blouse, but nothing. "Drat," she said. "I must have left it inside."

But soon another entered the scene. His brown hair was tossed carelessly over his head, his brown eyes glinted with amusement. She smiled in spite of her situation, and he smirked. "Up a creek without a paddle, I see," he remarked. "Literally." But, being the kind man he was, he lifted a key from his own pocket. He then unlocked the gate, permitting her to (finally!) get in. The girl thanked her father, nodding gratefully.

She ducked in front of the bushes, and began to pluck the berries from the tangled branches. They plopped neatly in her basket, one by one. After a while, the work grew boring, and she paused. Why not take a break? So she set down the basket, and stepped over to one of the apple trees, where she crouched in the shade.

"Miku," the man teased, "lazy, aren't we?" He crouched in front of her, grinning widely. But she didn't respond. She was too engrossed in his eyes, his wonderful eyes. Why hadn't she noticed them before? And his face was so perfect. Why did her mother never seem to care? Why did she just brush over him like he was nothing? He was amazing. He was lean too, fit. From working outside, you know. It's what you get from living in the country. And she loved that about him. He was so wonderfully perfect. She gazed at him for a moment, savoring it.

What she did then she would regret for the rest of her life. It was awful, sinful. The kind of thing that is so morally wrong that people who cross the line are condemned for the rest of their life. But, for that single second, her conscience vanished. Soon, there was nothing between them. Lips crashing, shattering the boundary between right and wrong. Sending her mind into a spiral. He broke away, shocked, utterly shocked. Then he bolted for the house, leaving her all alone in the orchard.

The girl with the long blue hair sat there for a while, turning the evening over in her head. Then the tears began to spill down her cheeks. What she had done finally hit her, like water to the face. It was horrible, what she had done. Unforgivable. And yet she, oddly, didn't mind it all that much. She recalled the feeling of his lips against hers, and smiled shyly. Was she going mad? Was her mind finally crashing and sputtering somewhere far off? She couldn't be sure. All she knew was that the kiss couldn't be taken back, and she would make it her eternity.

She didn't see her father the next few days. He must have gone out early, because he wasn't even in his room when she woke up. He had simply up and vanished. Her mother gave her cold, distrusting looks every few minutes. Like she knew. But she didn't. That was obvious. She seemed equally worried about her husband, and not at all about her daughter's sanity. She frequently checked the windows for a sign of him. Finally, he turned up.

He was quite a young man, at the spry age of 32. But when he walked in the door he looked at least a decade, maybe two, older. His face was weary and wrinkled, his skin was battered, and his bony legs looked as if they might collapse any second. Mother quickly helped him into a chair. He didn't look at his daughter at all, as if pretending that she did not exist. Finally, he spoke. "I'm leaving. I'm not comfortable here anymore," were his breathy words. His daughter paled, making even her teal hair seem silver. Leaving?

Her mother gasped. "But, sweetie! I'm sure we can work this out." She wrung her slender hands.

But he shook his head, making tears come to his wife's eyes. "I'm going tomorrow evening," was his firm response. "I'm going upstairs to pack."

He climbed up the stairs, feet thudding on the wooden floor. Then all was silent. The only sound in the kitchen was her mother nervously sipping her tea, and breathing. It was so quiet that a pin dropping would sound like thunder. The two woman who had fallen in love. One right, one wrong. Both breaking and unable to speak, lest they rip their heart completely in two. No tears were shed. They were too much in shock to cry.

The next morning was cloudy and humid. It would certainly rain later, no doubt. The girl decided to finish her job in the orchard before it did, or else the remaining berries might be washed away. As she picked the berries, she felt the tears come to her eyes. "Oh Mother, Father," she whispered. "I want to be happy, I want to find love. But why must things end up like this?" She carried her basket back to the house, heart heavy and eyes fixed to the ground.

She would never find love. She would never be happy. She was forever cursed.

That's when the final twig snapped.

She stood outside the house with her mother and father. The former was sobbing, pink hair cascading down her back. The latter looked rather melancholy. She, however, smiled wide. Finally, she would have her say. She wasn't just a doll to be played with, to be ruined. She looked her mother in the eyes. "Out of the three, who was the most unfortunate?" she asked rhetorically. Her mother stared for a moment, before she raised her sickle.

Yes, finally, she would pick the ripest fruits.

Then she faced her father, who wore an expression of horror. "Three is such an unstable number, huh?" was all she said, before she again sliced the ripest of fruits.

But, ah, was that a head, rolling on the ground?

The light blue haired girl stared at the scene, as it began to rain. She reached in her blouse and pulled out the flower her father had given her ages ago. It was a duller yellow now. Weakened by weather and falling apart at the seams. She was just like that flower. And, just like the flower, she was plucked by another, who could hold her close and protect her. The Man in the Mask.

This story is probably familiar to you. You must have heard the tale before. What you don't know is that the blossom that mirrored Miku fell from her hand, and was the only living thing remaining at the house.

The sweet canary yellow floweret would be the only one remaining in the wilderness.

**AN;;** Thanks for sticking through with me, guys. C: I recommend you check out the song. It's really neat. Also, I unintentionally mixed in some Just Be Friends, haha. What an interesting combination. It adds whole new depth to the song! xD

Anyway, I love reviews, and I'd adore it if you'd send me some.


End file.
